


Honking noises

by Marlynastre



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crack, Dalish Culture, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Prank Wars, Snowflake shouldn't be trusted, Varric being Varric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:51:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5023639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marlynastre/pseuds/Marlynastre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her companions know little to nothing about proper Dalish traditions. Even better, they trust her every word on the matter. With great power comes great irresponsibility, and thus Snowflake starts the great Prank War of 9:41 Dragon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honking noises

“Soooo... Is it true that the Dalish dance naked under the moonlight?”  
  
Snowflake stared blankly at her companion for a good ten seconds. Blackwall seemed genuinely interested in the answer, his eyes fixed on the whetstone he was running over the edge of his sword to avoid her fixing gaze. The trip had been long and Skyhold was near, so the others had turned in early for the night, leaving the two of them by the campfire making ready for the first watch. They kept busy in what she'd thought was comfortable silence, but if Blackwall's embarrassed tone was to be believed, he’d had the question on the tip of his tongue for a while.  
  
"What is it with people and naked elves?" she asked, half-offended half-amused. " _No_ , of course we don't, that's ridiculous!"  
  
She immediately regretted it when disappointment washed over the Warden's face, followed by a simple "Ow."  
  
"I mean... Not all the time. And we're mostly not naked."  
  
"Mostly?" Blackwall had stopped polishing his blade and was listening intently. "We dance, yes." Hala went on. "Like normal people do on occasions around a campfire. Like _we_ do sometimes. And we're mostly not naked either, except when Sera, alcohol or a combination of the two are involved."  
  
A fond smile appeared on both their faces at the memory. Sera had a talent for brightening the mood, for bringing out joy out of all the gloomy and all-too-serious people of the Inquisition. Camping out was never quite the same without her goofing around.  
  
"Did Sera put you up to this?" she asked, knowing the girl had a talent for making up the craziest stories.  
  
"No.” He replied simply. “I- you know how it is.  There's a lot of crazy nugshit about elves. Thought I'd ask. And since I couldn't turn to Solas... Poor man nearly strangled me on the spot when I asked about, you know, 'stuff' in the fade, so I thought I wouldn't push my luck with him tonight." She'd been laughing for so long when that happened. Solas hadn't spoken for the rest of the day and had been the first to bid them good night, closing the flap of their tent angrily.  
  
«You’re proper Dalish too.” The Warden went on. “I'd believe you if you said it's all true. No one could check.”  
  
"But still... Dancing naked? What's next, ritual chanting and painting our skin with the blood of dirty shem'len?"  
  
"Actually, I've been meaning to ask..." Blackwall started.  
  
"No!" She punched him in the arm, knowing full well that a dragon crashing into Blackwall couldn't pierce the padding, armour and manliness, much less a tiny elven inquisitorial fist. A hush came from Solas’ tent and she lowered her voice. "Creators, we're not savages!"  
  
"Says the girl who didn't know how to use a fork the first time I met her."  
  
"That was completely different."  
  
The Warden stood her gaze, brow knitted in mockery, until she relented and admitted he had a fair point. Laughing, he patted her on the shoulder and stood up to start patrolling the area.  
  
Snowflake stayed close to the tents, thoughts going in circles for a while, idly throwing twigs into the fire. She knew, of course, how isolated the Dalish were. Keeper Deshanna always fought actively for communication with the rest of the world but it was a long and tedious process hindered by the reluctance of many other Dalish clans. She knew that. Yet it was easy to forget how little she told her companions of her former life before the Inquisition. Melancholy loomed in the corner of her mind and she shook it off, willing to keep this day a positive and cheerful one. They had reached their grumpy elf quota anyway, she thought with guilt as she eyed the tent Solas and she shared.  
  
One of Blackwall’s statements came back to mind and she held on to it, eyes lighting up in mischief.  
  
So nobody would question anything she said about Dalish traditions, huh?  
  
Oh, she was _definitely_ going to take advantage of that.

  
  
*

  
  
The perfect occasion didn’t arise until a couple weeks later. They were patrolling the Exalted Plains, making a detour through Halin’sulahn to avoid the battlefields of Orlais’ civil War. Josephine was currently working on getting in both sides’ good graces so that the Inquisition could cross the region safely but for now, the forces would attack them on sight. The fact that a lot of deserters had formed into the Freemen of the Dales and wreaked havoc all across Southern Orlais didn’t help either. Or the undead. Or anything really. In the meantime, they decided to meet the Dalish Clan settled alongside the banks of the Enuvaris River, which their scouts had made contact with a couple days ago.  
  
Hala was looking forward to it.  
  
It was eerily quiet in the Dales, the hooves of their mounts didn’t make any noise on the soft grass. Her Hart was quiet for once, when the beast usually gratified them with whining noises every now and then. Such a contrast to the burning ruins of villages and smoking battlefields only a couple leagues to the North…  
  
Varric’s horse trotted up to her side of its own volition. Varric still wasn’t comfortable riding, she could tell, despite all the time he’d spent with Blackwall and Cassandra on the frozen plains outside Skyhold trying to learn. The beast was placid and responded well to his commands but it sensed his fear and uneasiness and sometimes took advantage of it when he wasn’t paying attention.  
  
At least the Iron Bull didn’t convince him to try dracolisks. Everyone knew that would be a bad idea.  
  
“Since it seems my pony has a thing for your cow,” the dwarf commented bitterly, “might as well check up on our special snowflake. Excited?”  
  
To say she was excited was the understatement of the century. Sure, she tried to keep a straight face and to act like she was just the Inquisitor forging alliances with all the races of Thedas to save the world. But the closer they got to the river, the more she shifted on her saddle and fidgeted the reins, trying to restrain herself from breaking into a gallop and joining her people early. “You have no idea. It’s been so long… I wonder if Keeper Hawen remembers me,” she replied pensively.  
  
“Oh I think I have some idea. Daisy was always like that too.” He fell silent for a couple seconds, reminiscing, then shook his head and brought a smile back on his face. “Anyways! What am I doing here? The Seeker I get. She’s pretty famous in this part of the world, she founded the Inquisition and made you the most important person in southern Thedas without asking for your permission. They wanna see what she’s made of. You bring Chuckles everywhere you go, that’s a no brainer. But me?”  
  
“You’re pretty famous too, you know.”  
  
“Andraste’s tits, you didn’t- really?”  
  
She shifted on her loyal cow, ears blushing. “Elvhen knowledge isn’t the only thing we trade at the Arlathven. And... You’re pretty big. The Keeper sent me a raven asking if you would be willing to sign the clan’s copy of the ‘Tale of the Champion’.”  
  
“And you didn’t inform me of this because…?” She didn’t reply, and he sighed dramatically before adding, “Fine. But I gotta tell you. My experience with Dalish clans isn’t exactly the best. Last and only Keeper I met was Daisy’s. And she turned into a demon.”  
  
“Not all Dalish-” she started.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Not all Dalish this and that. Still. Any advice on how to approach my adoring fans? And no, before you say it, I’m not taking my boots off. Trust me, you don’t want that.”  
  
Snowflake pretended to think for a couple seconds. If she played her cards right… Keeping a straight face was extremely difficult, especially when Varric could read her like an open book. So many possibilities… She settled on one that wouldn’t destroy the Inquisition’s relationship with the entire elven race.  
  
“There’s maybe one thing you could do to make them respect you.” She took her eyes away from his, like she didn’t even dare bring this up, like she was a bit ashamed of her own culture. “We don’t usually do it around strangers, but… when two Dalish trust one another, they’ll show it by… pulling each other’s nose. Honking. Like a hart.”  
  
“I call bullshit on that.”  
  
“But it’s true! Of course Shems think it’s barbaric and stupid, like everything we do, but there’s a whole meaning behind it. It was done for kids originally but it’s become a very important gesture now.” She was babbling, trying to bluff her way out of this one but her flustered look only added to the authenticity. “You wouldn’t let someone you don’t trust near your face, would you? If they let you do it, that’ll tell you that they trust you as much as family. And that you respect our culture regardless of how silly it sounds to you. That’s always a huge thing. There’ so much that everyone drags down in the mud because it doesn’t fit their own way of-”  
  
“All right, I get it. You sound just as crazy as Daisy, but I guess it’s a good sign. That would explain a lot about her actually.” The dwarf seemed to believe her, which was completely surreal. Hala had such a hard time containing her laughter that her sides hurt. Yet, Varric turned on his mount, nearly falling off the saddle.  “Chuckles! Come here a sec. I need your expertise,” he shouted to Solas who was riding a few paces behind them, deep in thought.  
  
That sobered her up immediately. Shit. Solas would definitely call her on her bullshit. There was no way Varric was going to forgive her after that, and there was no way she could try again on someone else if he spread the word. The mage rode up to them and the dwarf briefed him about what the honking-and-nose-pulling-situation.  
  
Raising an eyebrow, Solas turned his eyes to Snowflake, questioning. She held his gaze, pleading silently that he played along. The ghost of a smile lingered in the corner of his upper lip.  
  
Dammit. He knew. And he toyed with her for a couple seconds, watching her squirm in her saddle and look as innocent as possible.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, he tore his eyes away from her and back to Varric, declaring with his usual “I’m so much smarter than you” voice:  
  
“The Inquisitor is right. Although many Dalish customs are but shadows of former traditions, twisted and bent beyond recognition, this gesture and its meaning originate from Ancient Arlathan. I am surprised they managed to keep it intact.” She knew he was joking, but she still felt a pang of shame every time he insulted her people’s efforts to keep whatever little they had left of their civilization. “It demonstrates great respect between two people,” he explained further, “as it not only a gift of trust, but also a call for derision. The powerful and self-absorbed were kept in check by a simple hart sound. Such a gesture, used by the right people, could have prevented the fall of the Elves, Child of the Stone. I am glad that this, at least, was not lost.”  
  
… Okay, he made it sound way cooler than she did. She’d almost believed his proverbial hahren voice and she was the one who invented this thing on the spot. It seemed to work on Varric, though. He mumbled something about elves being weird, the old ones being even weirder, and his horse being the shittiest horse in all of Thedas. Said horse, obviously offended, broke into a trot and led the dwarf away from them at a frisk pace. If Cassandra hadn’t caught up with him and taken the reins of his mount in her own hands, the dwarf would have gone straight into the nearest tree.  
  
“Honking noises?” Solas inquired, when everyone else was out of earshot.  
  
“… I improvised.”

  
  
*

  
Meeting Hawen’s clan could have gone way worse. They spent the day helping out in any way they could to get the Keeper’s trust, sending search parties for a lost member of the clan, gathering precious resources for the winter, repairing the broken wheel on one of the Aravels, tending to the sick with their healing magic. Evening came faster than she expected and the Dalish were huddled around the campfire in the small cave by the creek. The party had brought gifts with them at Snowflake’s insistence, especially food that was difficult to come by, and they were all feasting on it.  
  
It didn’t take long for Cassandra to get swept in a fighting challenge with some of the young hunters, all testing her in every way they could think of. Root beer helping, the Seeker had loosened up and accepted, and now she was happily brawling with them. Some made the mistake of holding back and that had earned them a swift hit in the stomach or a swat on the back of the head. The girls fought dirtiest, they knew winning against the famed Seeker would get their mate’s attention and devotion.  
  
As the evening went on, the teenagers admitted defeat and congregated around her, exchanging hunting stories, listening with awe when Cassandra narrated the Inquisition’s dragon-hunting exploits. Varric was looking a bit sour, constantly surrounded by half the clan pestering him with questions about his books, spoilers about future serials and theories about the cliffhanger of the latest “Swords and Shields”. He even had to carve his name into one of the handle of someone’s knife.  
Still, Lavellan was a bit disappointed. The dwarf hadn’t fallen for her trick. Yet. Maybe later, after more drinks?  
  
The one who’d surprised her the most was Solas. She’d expected him to keep his distance to avoid lashing out at everything he heard, but he and Keeper Hawen went along remarkably well. The old man had greeted her with a hug but kept his distance with the Inquisition until they had proved they were trustworthy. When they did, he became his usual cheerful and wise self again, and it made her proud. Deshanna and Hawen were among the most progressive Keepers she knew of, even when a lot of clans disagreed with them at Arlathven... He’d also sent scouts to investigate the unspoiled ruins in the Emerald Graves in the hope that it might hold secrets about the fall of the Dales.  
  
Solas had cringed when Hawen greeted him in broken elvhen, and couldn’t stop himself from correcting him.  
  
Three hours later, they were still going at it.  
  
She’d joined in early in the conversation, and acted as a stabilizing force between the two proud men. Both of them were fascinated by what the other had to say, even when they both refused to believe half of what they heard. Now and then, she put a hand on Solas’ arm when he insulted the Dalish ways or she frowned at Hawen for calling Solas a flat-eared apostate.  
  
At some point, the children snuck up close to listen to their tales, trying to keep quiet and utterly failing at it.  
  
A little girl, no more than five, small ears pointing out of tousled hair, somehow found her way to Solas’ lap when he wasn’t paying attention, and the mage kept stroking her hair absent-mindedly. The young ones started asking questions about literally everything until Hawen gave up on arguing with his fellow mage. The two men then took turns telling legends and spooky stories. It quickly became obvious that they were competing for the children’s attention when they started outwitting each other with their tales.  
  
Snowflake was slowly drifting off, lulled by Solas’ and Hawen’s voices, hair braided the Dalish way by one of the women of the clan like she hadn’t worn in ages, belly full of simple food and body weary from daily yet meaningful tasks.  
  
Everything was perfect.  
  
She was startled awake by a honking noise, hand flying to her staff immediately.  
  
Hawen was standing wide-eyed, facing Cassandra whose cheeks instantly became bright red in the fire’s light.  
  
The cave fell silent. Everyone stared at them, waiting for the world to end. For what seemed like an eternity, Hawen remained transfixed, unable to produce even a sound. Creators, he looked like he was about to jump at her throat.  
   
And they definitely could have cooked an egg on the Seeker’s cheekbones.  
  
A small chuckle to her right, as Solas was unable to hold back his laughter. His hand flew up to his mouth to hide his smirk but the damage was done. It was infectious and soon the entire clan was cackling like madmen. Snowflake hid her face in Solas’ fur, holding onto her sides for dear life. Even Hawen put a hand to Cassandra’s arm, laughing so hard he couldn’t stand up straight anymore.  
She, on the other hand, was simmering with rage.  
  
“ _VARRIC_!”  
  
She turned to the dwarf, fingers bunching into fists and he scampered away, blinking back the tears in his eyes and putting an Aravel between him and the woman who was trying to strangle him, eviscerate him and hang him by his guts to the nearest tree.  
  
“Hey! Go murder her Inquisitiorialness over here, she’s the one who told me about that!” he grinned.  
  
“And you _believed_ her?”  
  
“Well of course I wasn’t gonna try it myself, you’re the Seeker of Truth here!”  
  
Snowflake rushed to Cassandra’s sides as the woman let out her signature disgusted noise, a sure sign she was about to flip the nearest table -or in that case, the nearest Aravel. Still grinning widely, she swept the angry woman into a tight hug, which gave Varric the opportunity to run away and hide behind a literal army of fans. “Cassandra, you’re the absolute best friend in all of Thedas,” Hala giggled even though Cassandra was as stiff in her arms as a broom, “and I personally thought that your hart impersonation was perfect.”  
  
The Seeker broke free from the embrace and gave her the coldest look ever. The look that said “The war is on”, or “I’m gonna murder you in your sleep”, depending on the light.  
  
“Excuse me?” a shaky voice uttered behind them.  
  
“ _What?_ ” Cassandra snarled, ready to break the intruder’s nose. Said intruder was one of the hunters who’d fought against her this evening, holding a neatly folded bear pelt in his arms. He looked nervous. His friends pushed him towards the Seeker, snickering, and the youth tentatively handed her the pelt. Snowflake’s mind suddenly made the connection.  
  
“Don’t-” but she didn’t react fast enough. Cassandra put her hand on the fur and mumbled an embarrassed ‘thank you’. Instantly, everyone started whistling and the youth shifted on his feet, not believing his own luck.  
  
“Some Dalish exchange furs as a symbol of betrothal.” Lavellan quickly whispered in Cassandra’s ears when the woman turned to her puzzled. Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”  
  
“Well, _he_ certainly believes it. You’ve just accepted him as your mate.”  
  
“…Maker.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ! I had a blast writing this. 
> 
> Originally prompted by @rhodaperdition on Tumblr.
> 
> Should I turn this into a series ? I'm tempted, there is so much room for retaliation here. <3


End file.
